


Honoring The End

by TerraZeal



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Afterlife, Family, Gen, Redemption, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraZeal/pseuds/TerraZeal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sylvanas kills herself for what she hopes is the last time, she finds herself in the afterlife with a certain paladin who offers her a second chance at life. Takes place 20 years after WoW, so sort of AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honoring The End

_**AN:** Possibly the last of my Tirion/Honor fics. This is AU compared to my other ones and takes place about twenty years after the Siege of Orgrimmar. VERY Sylvanas oriented. No pairings except canon (a TINY bit of Tirion/Darion slash mentioned). Yes, many characters are dead, therefore includes character death. Nathanos is here because I like him. Yes, Arthas and the WoW afterlife is from the Edge of Night official WoW story. Yes, that really is what happens to Arthas. Stop trying to redeem Arthas, people! It IS NOT POSSIBLE! CANON IN GAME Tirion even says so. The OC characters are no one important. The unnamed human paladin in Pandaria is not an OC._

_**Honoring A Second Chance** _

Undercity was a wreck. That was all it could be called. After years of restoring the once-Plaguelands, the Undercity was surrounded by so much life and sunlight that it made the Banshee Queen miserable. Bitter. She hated the life, the light, the restoration. Which was why she had left. Unwillingly on her part, Nathanos Blightcaller had accompanied her to her destination.

The Vale of Eternal Blossoms in Pandaria. Why was she going? He would ask. What did she hope to find there, in that ancient land of a race that was not her own? She had no answer. She just... _needed._

That was all she could say to him. The only answer she had. The Forsaken champion, her first trained and most loyal ranger general, guessed why she had come here, but he did not dare put it into thought or words in hopes that he was wrong.

He had loved her, long ago. As the Banshee Queen, and as Ranger General. But now...this thing that she had become...he was loyal, yes, but love? Not love as he remembered it from his human life. He just sighed and followed her up the long stairs to the top of what he guessed was an ancient Pandaren palace. Mogu, perhaps? He didn't know. He followed her to the railing she was gazing out over.

If he had any feelings whatsoever, he would feel awe at the site before him. It had been repaired, and renewed since Garrosh's evil had defiled the sacred Vale. Eternal Blossoms was a very apt name for the place. If he had a heart, it would have ached to feel just a small breeze from the red-gold trees that dotted the horizon, that swayed in harmony with everything around them.

He glanced at Sylvanas. His Queen was glassy eyed, blank. Her eyes, a slash of crimson against pallid grey, showed nothing at all. No rage, no hunger, nothing. Not even the desire to continue her existence. Her last Valkyr had fallen at her own hands.

The smoking white husk had lain in the throne room for weeks before someone, one of the still-present orc guards, removed it. The new Warchief was not like Garrosh at all, he only sent his guards there to try and...what, befriend the Undercity guards? Nathanos snorted, which still drew no response from the frozen Banshee Queen.

"Go away, Blightcaller." An unexpected reply from the stoic figure on the railings. Her heeled boots were perched on the small ledge now. Those crimson eyes glared at him. "Now!"

Nathanos bowed. "Yes. Goodbye...Lady Sylvanas. I did love you." He bolted before she could retort or strip away his undeath, if she had that power anymore, with the loss of all her Valkyr.

_Is this it, then? Is there only darkness? This is different than Icecrown. I know what lies before me, and still I seek it over what is here and present. The darkness, the eternal nothing, the torment...I just want to...feel. Something. Anything._ She took another step, pulling herself over the railing, grabbing the bars and leaning forward, gazing downward.

Shining white parapets glittered far, far below. Even further beneath them glittered a brilliant pool that reflected the lights of everything that hit it, giving it an almost luminous glow, odd for water.

Maybe it was solid. Maybe it was just a reflecting pool. Just a mirror. She couldn't see her own reflection. She didn't want to. She gazed upward. The branches of a tree in full bloom. Pink petals streamed through the air, circling her hair, raising the cracked and rotten tresses into the breeze.  _Let it end. Let it be over._  She didn't close her eyes.

She wanted her last sight to be of the beauty of the Vale. The trees in eternal life, eternal blossom, promises of constant new life, beauty even in the face of great evil. She let go of the railing. Long ago she had dreamed of flying. On her own, without a dragonhawk. She wondered if this was what it felt like.

The wind rushing through her hair, around her desiccated body...she felt water streaming from her eyes. Tears, or just the wind?  _I do not cry. I will not cry._ The parapets, gleaming white and sparkling, came closer. She smiled as her body hit them with a sickening crack.

The long-rotted body was weak and what was left fell into the reflective pool, scattering the surrounding area with a smattering of brilliant refractions and patterns of startling light. A female Pandaren, predictably getting drunk, near the pool jumped after being drenched from the odd splash.

Constantly, sometimes to the point of annoyance, curious, she stuck her head in the pool. She saw only lights, as always. Still, it wasn't often the Pool was disturbed. LiLi decided she ought to tell someone. Maybe Uncle Chen or High Priest Anduin.

Someone who cared enough about the pool to look into it. She jumped up, a little unsteady. She'd already had too much of her uncle's latest concoction, but she wasn't a Stormstout for nothing, and she headed to the nearby shrine her uncle was currently visiting. He was less confusing and easier to reach than the human would be.

Sylvanas felt nothing. No pain, no anger, no happiness. Nothing. She couldn't tell if her eyes were open. Everything was grey and she couldn't move anyway. Until the sound started. The sound that had so terrified her the first time she sought to end her unlife. The agonized screams of a small, tormented child.

Feeling slowly crept back into her body. Her surroundings began to take shape as the pained moans of the child got louder. Still, no pain. Nothing like last time. Her body...was her own? She was intact? Was she at long last...free?

She struggled to stand, her legs weak. She looked up. It looked like a mass of giant windchimes, glittering like a crystal in the heat of Orgrimmar. She laughed. These lights were more than just heat in Orgrimmar.

That was when she heard the music. It wasn't loud enough to overpower the screams of the tormented creature, but it was enough to take away a tiny bit of the fear she'd once had of this place. It wasn't music like she had ever heard, but it was more beautiful than anything. Peace, the music sounded like peace at long last.

She couldn't reach it. The music was always there, but no matter how hard she strained to hear it more, to try and make out perhaps words, or stronger chords, there was nothing. It was always drowned out by shrieks of torment from the child.  _Facing your fears is supposed to put an end to them._ She wasn't sure where she had heard that before, but...she wanted the music, perhaps more than anything she had wanted in her entire existence.

Tears she hadn't noticed before were trailing down her cheeks. That music. That haunting, eerie music, that beautiful, wonderful sound that beckoned, but would not let her hear more. Was that the torment? Was that why he shrieked in so much pain and agony? The peace and happiness so close, but so out of reach.

Trembling, she finally looked away from the mass of musical windchimes clustered in the center of the ceiling of this vast room. A massive Phoenix preened on one side, it did not notice her at all. It's violet and rose tail left light trails as it flicked it's tail back and forth attempting to get at a spot that apparently itched badly.

The other side...of course, her fears, here. The music, still streaming from the windchimes overhead, urged her on however. The child was a small, flayed thing. Shrieking in agony, hellish looking, almost as if it had been flayed, burned alive, and more. It had no features to speak of. It was bald, but she knew. She'd always know. She would always feel him, and what he did to her life, no matter how long she lived. Now...what?

A flash of blue. Eyes. The child at least had eyes. They were an icy blue, the same icy blue that had haunted her nightmares. She approached slowly, bare feet cold on the icy stones. She looked around as she made the long walk over to the child.

It looked like Shattrath city. Even the massive windchime pile in the center of the ceiling...she remembered something like it in Shattrath, but she had never been welcome there for long.

There were only two portals. One behind the phoenix, and the other behind the screaming creature. Her surroundings weren't grey any longer either. Tinges of green and white could be seen here and there, and of course the far-away ice-blue, but still too close, eyes filled with so much pain.

She was naked, of course, but it didn't matter. The tiny thing shrieking near the burning portal would not even notice. Once again she noticed how cold the stones were upon her feet. She hadn't felt sensations since she'd been alive.

She almost reveled in it. One of her bare feet stepped on something warm, round, and hard. She looked down. Shock. The locket...the ruby and gold locket...Alleria's gift. Why? Why would it follow her into death?  _Love always, Alleria. Love always. Always. Love. Even in death? Beyond death? Love always, Alleria. Where was Alleria now? If it was 'love always', where was she now?_  More tears, she crumpled to her knees, clutching the locket, her mortality, her love, to her.

_Love always. Where are you Alleria? Vereesa? Sisters? Where are you, if you said you would always love me?_

"If you give in, you end up like him." Sylvanas gasped, jumped, quickly trying to wipe away her tears before realizing they were gone. Was this some sort of...of...Dalaran wishing fountain that actually worked?

She stood, hand clutched over her locket. Someone she hadn't seen in years, someone who had been  _dead_ for years, stood before her. That paladin, of course. Who else? She sighed tiredly.

"Tirion. What do you want now? If you waited here all this time just for me-"

"I didn't. I'm not. I'm waiting for...someone else. It doesn't matter, but here we are. The great, cosmic leftover pile."

Tirion was smiling. His face was less lined, but he was still the old man she remembered. His armor had apparently been discarded for his old hermit robes he had worn before becoming Ashbringer. Tirion gazed around the room, eyes lingering on the crystalline windchimes making that music. His smile broadened.

"You hear it, don't you, Sylvanas? The music." He didn't look away from the windchimes. Apparently he could hear the music loud and clear. Perhaps so much so that it even drowned out the agony of the child.

"I hear it. It's faint, but I can hear it. If...if that thing would just..." She trailed off. She was very near the child now.

Could touch it, him. Could see the hatred, the pain, in those ice-blue eyes from nightmares. Part of her wanted to kick it, beat it, until it moved no more, until it shrieked no more. Another part, perhaps the same part that heard the music, wanted to give in to the motherly instinct any woman felt upon seeing an injured child. Comfort. Love. Compassion.

Tirion, however, had other ideas. "My Lady? Leave it be. It can do no harm here, not to you, nor to anyone else, ever again. And you can do no harm to it, nor can you comfort it, help it, or..." Tirion just sighed and shook his head.

"I know who it is, but WHAT is it, and why? Why am I not...?" She couldn't finish.

The elderly paladin sat on a crystalline formation that seemingly appeared out of thin air. He gazed for a long while at the child as well before answering her.

"It wasn't your choice, Sylvanas. Your soul was ripped from your body, twice. Once from your original body, then from the Night Elf body you inhabited, but it was never mangled. Never damaged beyond repair. You've always been Sylvanas Windrunner." He stopped, as if this somehow explained everything.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more clear. He was bad, but...Deathwing and Garrosh...they were just as bad, weren't they? If not worse...Deathwing wanted to destroy the world. Garrosh allied with the Old Gods..." Sylvanas just shook her head in distaste.

"Neither accomplished their goals, Lady. Deathwing was held back by the good left in him. Garrosh...I do not know. The Spirit of Life took him, as it does with all who are not part of the Light. Thrall likely knows what happened to him, but you will not find him here. This monster...he completed his goals, and more, all while human, without true corruption, of his own free will. He mutilated his soul. A soul that was once as pure and whole as any other."

The old man was still fixated on the windchimes. "You're here, because this is where you believe you should be. You don't think there is anything left to live for, but the Light will not take you yet, and your soul is not tormented beyond redemption."

She almost cried again. "There is nothing left to exist for. What I am doing is not living, not by a long shot. Existence filled with emptiness is no existence at all."

"Tell me, Sylvanas. How many ways out do you see?" Tirion sounded honestly curious.

"Excuse me? I don't understand."

"Flight paths. Portals. However they may appear to you. They are exits to this place, I believe. I have never tried to leave, of course, so I wouldn't know for sure." He was being perfectly friendly, just asking a question he really seemed to want answered.

Sylvanas looked, Really looked. "Three. The one behind the phoenix. The one behind...it...and...unless I am wrong, the music." She tried to hear it once again. The chimes were still soft echoes, nothing more. She gave a cry of frustration.

Tirion, however, seemed to understand. "I see. Then you have three choices, don't you?"

"I don't understand." She whispered once again. "I don't have any choices. Even ending up like him is a better fate than seeing everything and everyone around me live, laugh, love, and even truly die."

"The phoenix will take you home. The portal behind our poor, deluded young prince will take you...well, I can't say I know. Not even he knows, poor thing, damned to this eternity...anyway, the music...will take you...on." Tirion's smile widened.

"I can't reach it. The music. I try and try, and it doesn't get louder or closer." She was on her knees again, sobbing. It didn't matter if this ghostly Tirion saw her. Or was he a ghost? He seemed fairly solid to her.

"Ah. You see, Sylvanas, I only see one way out for myself. The music. The phoenix refuses to bear me, and there is no portal at all beyond the poor creature, at least not one I can access. I can't leave yet, however, not until he comes..." The paladin trailed off for a moment before continuing.

"It seems the phoenix is your only choice, isn't it, Sylvanas? You know what a phoenix symbolizes?" His bright green eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, or what was left of it. No, that wasn't true. Her soul was whole and intact, not...like that...her gaze strayed once again to the horrible creature.

"What if...what if I choose to stay here? And wait for the music? I want it, more than I've ever wanted anything else in my entire existence. You don't understand. I want it, but it doesn't want me! It wants you, but you don't want it, yet!" She grabbed a handful of his plain brown robes.

His hand closed over both of her tiny elven hands. "You're wrong. Do you not see what this means? You're being given a second chance. A chance to go back."

She wrenched her hand away. "I don't WANT to go back! If I had wanted to stay there, I wouldn't have jumped!"

Tirion's lips twitched slightly, almost a laugh. "If you had truly wanted to leave, you wouldn't have tried to end it in the one place where such an act is impossible."

"I-what? The Vale? I only wanted it to be my last sight before an eternity of nothingness."

"The Vale is more than you think. More than we all think. There is a concentration of the Light within the Vale greater than anything I've ever experienced, and remember who I am. The Greatest Paladin Who Ever Lived, yes? And within that lovely expanse of trees, there is something about the Light that even I cannot make sense of."

Tirion gazed at her. "Tell me, which pool did your body fall into?"

"Pool? Just a lake, like any other. Beautiful, reflective. Almost mirror-like. All the lakes I've seen in the Vale are like that." What did it matter which body of water her corpse was now rotting in?

"Yes, but there are only six true pools like that. The only 'lakes' you've seen are the pools of power, something beyond the Light, yet inextricably tied to it, and to the Spirit of Life and the land." Tirion tried to explain, but apparently, having never been to Pandaria himself, he did not know all the details.

"I...I don't know. There was a large building above it. I jumped off...and then I was here. I felt...peace. At long last. I thought it would be over. Then I heard it again. The shrieking. Then came the music, but it wasn't loud enough...still the pain of that monster was too great for the chimes to drown out."

Tirion nodded as if this made perfect sense. "Go back. I can't say for certain whether you will be truly happy if you do, but I know that anything is better than staying here for eternity. The next time you're here, hopefully the music will be the only thing you'll hear."

The gold-rose phoenix was so close it was almost touching her. She could feel the heat from it's eternally burning feathers.  _Go back where? Go back as what?_

What would happen? She was already turned from this course once by a Valkyr, now she was being turned from it by an old enemy. Or friend. She didn't know what to classify this paladin as, not really.

"How would I come back? As what?" She glanced at the shaking creature, then at the brilliant phoenix, finally meeting Tirion's blazing green eyes.

Tirion just stared back. "As yourself. Do you think you'll come back as someone else?" He sounded amused, but said nothing else. He KNEW what she was asking, but still he didn't, or perhaps couldn't, answer.

She hesitated, took a few steps toward the trembling child. She felt Tirion's heavy hand on her naked shoulder. She turned around, questioning. He shook his head.

"Don't. There is no moving on for such a monster, even if all his victims forgave him. He doesn't feel the slightest bit of pain and sorrow for anyone but himself."

"If I, the Banshee Queen, can be given a second chance, then so can another evil." She shook off his hand, or tried to. The grip only tightened.

"You  _can't!_  You literally cannot. Do you honestly think I have been here this long, and I haven't tried? You know who I am. All he would have to do is say 'sorry' and I would take him into the Light myself. There is no help. There is no sorry. The time for redemption is long past."

Tirion stared at her for a long time, hoping she would understand.

She nodded, slowly, she took one last, long look at the shaking, trembling, agonized child her nightmare had become. The great and mighty Lich King. The terrifying Arthas Menethil. The name and eyes that haunted the nightmares of so many.

She clenched her teeth and glared at the creature Arthas became. She never would see him again. At least, that was what Tirion said, if she chose to go back.  _I don't want his fate. He chose his own fate. He was never sorry. Tirion is right._

Still, she couldn't help it. She bent down, as close as she could bring herself to the revolting child-Arthas. "For my part, anyway, I forgive you." She whispered to him, before standing up and turning to Tirion and the phoenix. She thought she might have heard some of the sobbing stop. Or perhaps she hoped. There was no redemption, no second chance for Arthas, but maybe, some day, there would be peace.

Tirion's features were almost blurred, as were her surroundings. Everything was...what...vanishing? Except the brilliant orange fire from the phoenix, waiting for her. It twitched it's tail almost in annoyance.  _Hurry. It won't wait forever, Lady. And...if you get the chance, tell Darion that I'll be waiting for him, and that I'm sorry I had to leave._ Tirion, or at least a hallucination of his voice, urged her on.

"Tirion. Or whatever you are. A Naaru. A spirit. Something in my own head. Thank you. For everything. I...if I see Darion, I'll tell him."

She gripped the locket tightly in her hand and grabbed the saddle of the phoenix with the other, pulling herself on the soft, warm back of the bird. She could have sworn she saw Tirion give her a salute and a true smile as he vanished, along with everything else, into a brilliant wash of fiery orange as the phoenix took flight.

"...wake up? Something wrong with her? It's one of those skinny elf people, Uncle. Is it dead?" A female voice, grating and obnoxious...what a way for someone to wake up from a dream...or was it a dream? She felt something furry and warm press against her neck.

A calmer, gruff male voice replied to the female. "She's alive, LiLi. For now. I think she might have fallen from the balcony. A nasty fall, even if it is just into the pool. The Pool saved her life, I think. I'm no expert on spirits. Well, except a certain kind." The man laughed, along with the irritating female.

Sylvanas still couldn't move or open her eyes. Her body felt as paralyzed as it had when she was dreaming. Had she been sleep walking? She rarely slept, but when she did, it was haunted by nightmares of Arthas, not dreams of Tirion giving her a second chance, of phoenixes, of mortality, of forgiving her murderer...she moaned as feeling started to return. It felt as if her entire body was nothing but pain. A thousand needles stabbing into every sensitive part of her body.

The annoying female screamed and it sounded like she fell over. Sylvanas hoped so. The man, however, just laughed. "She's alive. Her heart beats strong, and she's moving. That's enough for me to call alive, anyway."

Wait, what? 'Heart beat'? She was dead. Her heart hadn't beat since Arthas had shoved his sword into her, all those years ago. Her eyes managed to finally flutter open, but not without some pain. She almost wished to die again. She hated Pandaren. Or did she, really? The male was an older pandaren, fur streaked with silver. The female was obviously still young, perhaps a young adult by pandaren standards.

Both looked relatively friendly. "I...wh..." Her voice cracked. It wasn't her voice. It sounded like Alleria's voice. Or Vereesa's. Certainly not the echoing voice of the Banshee Queen.

"Don't worry! You're alive! Here, I think my uncle's spirits will help you-" The female had been attempting to get her to drink something out of a dirty mug before being shoved aside by the elder male pandaren.

"Don't mind my niece, elf lady. My name is Chen Stormstout. I'm sure you have heard of me." He sounded overly proud of himself, she noticed with a hint of irritation. "The best brewer across FOUR continents! Well, maybe not if my niece keeps up with her work."

"Anyway, where do we send you? Where did you come from?" The female pandaren interrupted the male, apparently wanting to just send her on her way.

"Stop it, LiLi. She needs healing first. I think." The pandaren called Chen examined her. Sylvanas was very glad she was still wearing clothing, although they were wet.

The needles were fading. She thought she might be able to stand, and her voice, at least her throat, was no longer strained. She spoke again, in the same soft voice she'd long associated with only her sisters. "I-I'm not...I don't need healing. I am fine. I can walk." She stood, nearly falling back into the pool, only to be caught by Chen.

"Perhaps you don't need healing, just rest. You can rest at our place." Chen started to guide her away from the pool. She tore herself from his grasp and bent over the pool.  _Who am I?_

The face in the mirrored waters wasn't her own, was it? No grey skin, no crimson eyes, no rotting white-blonde hair...her eyes were sky-blue, skin a pale pink, hair a brilliant gold. This couldn't be Sylvanas Windrunner. It could only be Alleria looking out from the pool.

"Is this me? Do I look like this?" She asked no one in particular.

"Who do you expect to look like besides yourself, miss?" Chen chuckled. "Water is a mirror, until someone disturbs it. It is also an excellent base for making a certain type of brew...at least, muddy water is."

"There is no cure for undeath." Again, to no one in particular.

"There was no cure for undeath. On YOUR continents. In case you haven't noticed, you are not ON one of your continents...and what do you mean? Who are you wanting to cure?" Chen sounded very confused. Or drunk. With Pandaren, it was hard to tell.

"I...no one. I don't have a home. I don't have a family. I don't know where to go." If she were truly 'cured' the Undercity guards would kill her. She looked like a High Elf, Alliance, with her blue eyes, and she certainly didn't look or sound ANYTHING like she had as the Banshee Queen.

She could go to Orgrimmar. The Warchief would accept her. She wasn't sure if he was just that gullible or really, really stupid. Anyone who said they needed help or shelter was allowed into the Horde nowadays. He was only a young orc, after all. However, he DID have Vol'jin for an adviser, along with Lor'themar from Silvermoon, so he couldn't be a total moron.

She'd had as little contact with Orgrimmar as possible ever since the Garrosh debacle some twenty years ago. All she knew was that Vol'jin had been what...Regent Warchief?...for a long time before their chosen Warchief was old enough to finally take the throne. Apparently, Warchief was now an inherited title rather than one that was earned.

No, not Orgrimmar, no matter who was Warchief. She thought of Tirion, and how he had told her that she could be happy again if she returned.  _Tirion...where do I go? What did you want me to do?_

"Argent Dawn. The Argent Dawn! Help me..." She trailed off. How would she get there? The headquarters was still in the former Plaguelands, Lordaeron.

Chen just stared at her. LiLi, however, apparently knew what she was talking about. "I've been there! I'm not as drunk as my uncle either! I know where we can get a portal to the place! You know Dalaran?"

What kind of moron did LiLi think she was? Of course she knew Dalaran. Everyone did.  _Dalaran. Vereesa. My sister. My...my nephews?_ She'd never thought of Rhonin and Vereesa's half-breed spawn as family, at least not until now. They would be adults by now. Vereesa would still be herself, or should be.

"Is there...are there any mages here? Nearby? I do need to get to Dalaran. I don't need your help either. I just need to find a mage." She snapped at the two Pandaren. LiLi looked offended. Chen just looked amused, which seemed to be his default expression.

"There is an Argent Dawn outpost not far from here. There may be a few mages there who can help you. Are you sure you don't need a drink or three?" Chen gestured in the direction of the shrine, and of course offered drinks.

"I'm very sure, thank you." She turned her back on Chen and LiLi and walked toward the shrine. Her heeled boots caused her feet to burn and ache on the gravel path to the shrine, even though it was a short distance.

_That's because you haven't truly walked on these feet in decades._ Yes, it was true. It was like her body was brand new, untested. She tried her bow. Her arm muscles knew the movements, but they ached when she tried to bend the bow the way she usually did. She laughed out loud. Feelings.

Was that what these were? What was this feeling? Laughter? What caused this? She had long forgotten. Happiness?  _Am I feeling happiness? Happiness because my feet hurt and my arms ache?_ She laughed again. Yes, yes, she was.

She glanced down at herself. Her clothing was starting to dry (probably some unknown power of the Vale, drying clothing quickly) but it was in tatters. As the Banshee Queen, she made sure it covered what would likely offend some people, but didn't bother for the most part. She stumbled up the steps, her feet and muscles still aching. She longed to toss the boots and bow and sit for a very long time.

A human rushed to help her as she staggered. "Dear Light! What happened to you, mistress? You look as if you came out on the wrong end of a fight with Chen or something..." The paladin, for that was what he obviously was, what with the plate armor and the massive sword, led her carefully up the rest of the steps and to a cushioned chair. She gasped in relief.

"No, nothing happened. Chen helped me, actually. I was...I fell off a balcony. That one." She gestured to the palace. "I guess...I mean, I don't know who I am. I don't even know...look, just get me a mage, okay? I need to get to Dalaran."

She decided to just tell everyone she didn't remember who she was. It would be a lot easier than saying she was a cured Sylvanas.

The paladin still looked concerned. "O..kay. Do you at least know your name?"

"I-yes. My name is...Lindsay. I don't remember anything else." She used her old alias from the Plaguelands. It sounded very human for a high elf, maybe, but it wasn't completely out of the question for elves to have human names.

The young paladin nodded. "Mage. Dalaran...okay." He frowned at her for a moment. "Do I know you?"

She hesitated. "No. You don't. At least, I don't think you do. I told you, I can't remember anything." She lied. The paladin DID look vaguely familiar, but she shrugged it off as having maybe seen him once when she had been alive. No, that wouldn't make sense either. He'd be old or dead by now.

Same as if she had seen him when she was the Banshee Queen. The last paladin she'd ever seen was Tirion, and she actually knew what he had looked like when he was younger. He had auburn hair and green eyes. This one had blonde hair and blue eyes. Oh well. Most humans looked the same. Maybe all elves looked the same to them. Or maybe he thought she was her sister.

"...Wait. Paladin." The blonde paladin stopped, glanced back. "I...do you know someone named Vereesa? I know that name. It's...in my head. Is she...where is she?"

Lies, but she had to at least find out if her sister was still alive, still in Dalaran. She hadn't honestly checked in ages.

The paladin's eyes widened, he almost looked shocked, but there was a faint smile on his face. "Sylvanas...? What the? How did...I don't understand, but...I think I get it. That's why you asked for her..."

"...I...what? That isn't my name...I don't think..." She tried to contain her shock. Few humans should recognize her mortal form.

"I won't hurt you or tell anyone. I just wanted to make sure. Now I am sure. The indirect lies, the hesitation. It's you, Sylvanas. I know Vereesa. Your voice is softer than hers. I never even met Alleria, but I heard of her. She was supposedly the wife of a devout paladin. Not TOO devout if she is dead, however..."

Sylvanas couldn't help herself and slapped the paladin. How DARE he insult her beloved Alleria's husband! Of course Turalyon was THE most devout paladin! Who would DARE question such a claim? She almost laughed again. She was angry, and she was happy about it. Happy she was angry. What a conundrum.

The paladin just stared at her. His smile was even wider now. "Do you still need a mage? Vereesa is not in Dalaran anymore, however, so I don't understand how going there will get you to her, unless you plan on talking to Jaina. She isn't herself anymore. Hasn't been for some time. She's actually kind of insane...nevermind. I'll just find you a mage. I'm sure you want to start...living...again. It really is...wonderful to feel, truly feel, again, isn't it?"

With those vague words, the paladin vanished up even more steps, before at last reappearing with what Sylvanas hoped was a mage in tow. It was a human, thankfully. A young female human. Someone who wouldn't know her. The human mage smiled at her.

"It seems you've lost your way and need arcane assistance. I'll do what I can. Thank you, Highlord. I can take it from here." The blonde paladin was still looking curiously at Sylvanas, as if he had more he wanted to say or ask, but he didn't and eventually left her alone with the mage.

"Yes...I just need a portal. To Dalaran. Please. And..." She eyed the mage's Argent tabard. She should have told the paladin earlier, but the mage would do too. "Do you have something I can write on?"

The mage gave her a funny look but produced a small scroll of parchment from her robes. She hadn't given her a quill or anything to write with. Sylvanas smiled. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, pierced her finger and soaked the tip in her blood.  _Red. Alive. I'm bleeding. Really bleeding. It hurts, too. A small prick, and it hurts!_ She used the bloody arrow to scribble what Tirion had told her.

"Give this to a man named Darion Mograine. A...a Death Knight." She folded the parchment and handed it to the Argent mage.

The mage gave her that odd look again. "But you just...I don't..." The mage was confused, but just shrugged. "Alright. Even though you could have just told him or given it yourself." The human mage stood, arcane lights trailed around and through her body as the words on her lips were murmured softly, almost inaudibly.

The blue-tinted portal opened. She didn't have any money to tip the mage, but she found something else, something possibly valuable, in the bottom of her pack. A phoenix feather. She tried to hand it to the mage as payment for the portal.

"I can't take something that valuable! Surely you know how valuable a true phoenix feather is..." The mage shook her head and stepped back.

"Then don't take it for me. Give it to Darion, with the note. Tell him the feather is from Tirion. Just do it!" A hint of the Banshee Queen crept into her voice as the mage started to protest once again. She thrust the fiery orange feather into the mage's hand and stepped through the portal.

It was like stepping into a purple furnace. It was hot, despite being in Northrend, and she could  _feel it_. Feel the heat. Maybe it was only hot compared to the perfectly regulated temperatures of Pandaria. Or maybe her ages-cold body hadn't felt heat in so long that it only felt hot. She felt something cold and sharp against her delicate, newly-restored throat.

"Who are you and why are you here?" It was the voice of a male human, or at least she thought it sounded human.

"Since when does Dalaran employ guards with swords at every portal?" She managed to get out, making sure not to move, lest she lose her life and end up with Tirion and Arthas again.

"Since twenty years ago. Since the massacre of Theramore. Since my father's death. I won't let anyone just walk in here. Alliance or not." He was obviously referring to her blue high elf eyes.

"Windrunner. My name...is Windrunner. I have a sister..." She stopped as soon as she felt a sharp pain in her throat. She felt a trickle of blood running down her neck.

"Liar. Alleria is dead. Sylvanas is worse than dead. You are NOT Vereesa." Heated anger in the warrior-mage's voice this time. "My father died with Vereesa's husband, Rhonin, in Theramore. I knew him. I know her. I know their children. What do you want with her?"

She gagged. She could not speak, or she would get her throat slit. The pressure eased a little. "Not...dead. Look...at me." She struggled to get out.

The human turned keeping the sword at her throat. He was a young male human, wearing mage robes but obviously trained as a warrior as well, hence the sword and shield. He stared at her a long while. "Damn. Who ARE you?" He whispered, stunned. "You look so much like Vereesa, it's frightening."

"I'm her sister. Please...tell me. Where is she? I need to find her." The sword finally left. The human mage was staring at her with something like awe on his face.

"I...Outland. She and her sons, and her nephew, they're looking for...you, I think. Alleria?" The human's voice was still barely a whisper.

She didn't answer his question. It wouldn't do to tell him who she really was and frighten him more. He looked as if he'd seen more than a ghost. "Thank you." She nodded to him and looked around the room she'd entered. There were no more Horde and Alliance sides of Dalaran. All the portals were here, in the center of the city. She looked for the burning one, the one that would lead to Outland, where the demons and Legion still ran amok. Where Alleria, where Vereesa, should be.  _I will find you, sisters._

She took a last look at the spires of Dalaran and stepped into Hellfire.

It was a wasteland. Everywhere the Legion had been was. Thrallmar still stood, and apparently that was where this portal led. Orcs, humans (to her shock), and others worked on various contraptions. An orc ran up to her. "Thank the Light! Has the Highlord sent you as reinforcement?"

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow at him. Orcs didn't worship the Light. And WHAT Highlord? Tirion was dead. So was Maxwell. Wait, was Thrallmar now ALSO an Argent Outpost? The orc was indeed wearing an Argent Dawn tabard. That explained the humans and dwarves here, getting along quite well with the orcs and scattered undead.

"Reinforcements! Kal'gor, you didn't say there would be any coming tod-" A Forsaken priest wearing the Argent tabard had ran over, shouting at the orc, who was apparently called Kal'gor, and stopped upon seeing her. He couldn't recognize her, could he? The Forsaken...? She didn't recognize the priest, after all.

"Who-? I...do I know you?" The Forsaken was staring at her, his golden eyes wide with something like fear and shock.

"No. I'm afraid you don't. I'm looking for another high elf. Her name is Vereesa Windrunner. She's my...that is, we're family." That was all she ought to say, in the presence of someone who could recognize her.

The Forsaken priest whispered something under his breath that sounded like 'it isn't possible'.

"Windrunner. You-? Alleria? They've...they've been searching for so long." This from the random orc, Kal'gor. "Your family will be so happy. They're in the tower, over there." Kal'gor gestured toward a stone tower on the hill.

"Kal'gor. You're an idiot. This woman is not Alleria. I met Alleria before I died. I remember what she looked like!" The suspicious Forsaken. Damn that idiot! If only, at least for this moment, she had the powers of the Banshee Queen. She would shut him up for good.

"Let me take her to Vereesa, however. I-I think she is family." Sylvanas was shocked. The priest wasn't going to say anything other than that? He was just going to take her to Vereesa? The cold, bony hand grasped her arm.

She gasped as the icy, sharp bones pressed against her delicate flesh. He pulled her forcibly away from the unintelligent orc until they were out of hearing distance. Sylvanas glanced back at Kal'gor, who was waving at her and grinning stupidly.

The bony fingers dug into her flesh. The Forsaken's golden eyes were burning, not with anger, but with utmost shock, and almost fear. She felt the bony fingers trembling slightly under the tight grip. "It can't be." Was all he said.

"I don't know you. Please, let me go..." She tried to pull away.

"It is. Please. How...?" The Forsaken did let go, and almost fell over a goblin that was carrying something likely explosive behind him. He knelt at her feet. "My Queen. My Lady." If Forsaken could cry, this one would be, she realized. The choked voice, the trembling words. She was alive, and still this undead was loyal to her?

"I really don't know you. I don't recognize you." She whispered. "I'm sorry. Please. Don't...call me that. Not anymore. I'm not your Queen."

The Forsaken priest gazed up at her, in adoration. "Always, my Queen. Alive or dead. You saved us. And now, maybe, you truly  _have_ found a way to save us all. Tell me."

"The...The Vale of Eternal Blossom. The Sacred Pools. Chen Stormstout said that they might be a cure for undeath. I...I killed myself. The Light gave me a second chance. I don't know if it will work for all Forsaken. I know the Vale is something Sacred. Something...special. That is all I can say. It is all I know." Tears trailed down her face. This priest might be right. She might have truly found a way to save them all, in that Vale, in the Sacred Pools.

The Forsaken nodded, and bowed low again. "My Queen. Forever. Thank you. I...just wanted to know. I don't want to change my condition now, but...some do. I'll send a note to...I don't know. Who is in charge of Undercity now?"

"Nathanos. My champion. Most likely. Or the orc warchief sent someone else, when he was told I was missing. Please. I want to see my family now." She told him.

The priest smiled at her, rotted teeth, rotting jawbone. "Thank you. I will send a note. You're still our Queen. Always. At least, my Queen." He did something odd, this time. He wrapped his bony arms around her and pulled her close, before letting her go and walking back to Kal'gor, shouting orders.

Sylvanas rubbed her arms. It had been a very long time since someone had truly hugged her, without terror in their faces, without fearing for their lives. Sylvanas walked up the path leading to the tower where Vereesa and Sylvanas' nephews were staying.  _Please be there, sister._  She hesitantly prayed the Light. Warmth flooded her, but it didn't feel like divine energy. It felt like that paladin, Tirion. Regardless, it was still comforting and pushed her fear away.

The tower was dark in the first room. Some alchemy products were laying around. Crystal phials, a few botched potions labeled "do not drink" in the language of her old people, the Forsaken. She forced back a laugh. Most of the orcs here didn't speak Forsaken, nor did the goblins and some elves. Elves usually tried to learn other languages, but orcs didn't think it was worth it, and no one was paying the goblins to learn languages. She wondered how many orcs mistook "do not drink" for "potion of strength" and inevitably died or sprouted feathers.

Leaving the alchemy room, she headed upstairs, passing a female orc that offered to instruct her on enchanting items. She already knew that, and blew the orc off. She just wanted to find her sister. Her legs and feet ached from all the stairs. It felt amazing, wonderful. She reveled in the pain on her new, sensitive feet. She finally came to the top of the tower.

A lovely female blood elf with long blonde hair, so very similar to hers, was seated near the opening. Vereesa was gazing out the window with such longing that Sylvanas was almost worried she would throw herself off the tower. Her breath caught in her throat.  _My sister. Will you hate me? Will you tell me to leave? I'm so sorry, sister._ Her hand went to the comforting weight of Alleria's locket. The cool metal and the thought of Alleria having once touched this comforted her.

"Vereesa." It was all she could manage at the moment. Vereesa jumped a little at the voice. Sylvanas hadn't seen any female elves here, so hearing one was likely a great shock to her. She spoke in the language of the Sin'dorei, but Vereesa understood many languages. Her sister turned. Vereesa stepped backward almost on the ledge. She was pale as a ghost, and Sylvanas could easily make that comparison, having spent much time with the undead.

"Alleria...?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. She slowly stepped toward Sylvanas. "I...I..." Vereesa stopped in her tracks when she was near enough to see the face of Sylvanas.

"N-no. It cannot be. You-you can't be...you're undead. Forsaken." She looked as if she were about to cry. "Sylvanas. Oh, thank the Light! Sylvanas. My sister. My sister again at last." Vereesa ran and closed the short distance between them, wrapping her once-undead sister in a strong hug.

"I love you, Sylvanas, my sister. When people called you a monster, a banshee bitch, I hated it. I wanted to tell them how wrong they were. I wanted to tell them that you would come back to the Light. Oh, Sylvanas." She was crying now. Sylvanas felt Vereesa's hot tears against her face.

Sylvanas felt like crying, too. At long last, after so many years, she finally felt something real. Tirion would have said it was love. Love. Yes, she  _loved_ her sister. Truly loved her. She gripped the locket, unclasped it and held it out to Vereesa.

Vereesa stared at the locket, fresh tears starting to form. "Oh, sister...you kept it. All these years, you still kept Alleria's locket. I knew, no matter what others said, that you were still my sister." Vereesa reached into her armor and produced her piece of Alleria's locket. The sapphire gem was in stark contrast with the ruby. Red and blue. Had Alleria known, somehow, that Vereesa would end up in the Alliance and Sylvanas the Horde? Red and blue. Faction colors.

"Sylvanas...let's...let's find her together. I can't...I can't think that she's gone. Alleria was stronger than any of us. Let's put the pieces of her locket back together. If this means our end, our death, so be it." Tears were trailing down Vereesa's cheeks.

"Vereesa...this is the end. The end of my search for true meaning. Where I really belong. I belong here, with you, with Alleria, with my nephews. My family. At long last it's over. The nightmare is over." Sylvanas dropped to her knees, sobbing. She hadn't felt such strong emotions in so very long.

"Do you want to meet them? Your nephews? They're wonderful young men. Beautiful. My sons look like her. Alleria." Vereesa gazed at her long-dead sister.

"Oh, Vereesa. I'd more than love to meet them. They're family. I want to hug them, tell them that their aunt will protect them. We won't lose any of our family, ever again." Sylvanas promised.

Vereesa took her sister's hand and pulled her up. "No, never. Come, your family waits for you."

Sylvanas looked out the window at the beautiful sky Outland had to offer. At long last. An ending. Her nightmare of undeath was finally ending.  _Thank you, Tirion. Thank you for everything. Thank you for giving me my ending._ She could have sworn she felt the paladin's presence. She smiled as the warmth spread through her, leaving her calm.

She had found the cure for undeath Perhaps, at long last, she could provide an ending for her subjects. Give them what they needed. Alliance or Horde, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the ending. An ending she'd so long thought impossible. With Vereesa's hand in hers, she was happier than she'd ever been. Her sister lead downstairs, to at long last meet the rest of her family.  _We will find Alleria, Vereesa. I promise._

**R/R. I know my grammar isn't great. Live with it. I write fanfiction, not novels. Also, I own nothing and make no money from this work.**


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